What happens in the Russian Airport
by Psyromayniak
Summary: ...stays in the Russian Airport! A continuation/extra for chapter 7, Stranded, of my fic Bakura's Tales of Torment.  In which Ryou tries to proove to his loving fans that he's not as much of a wet blanket as we think. Rated T for slight violence


**What happens in the Russian airport stays in the Russian airport!**

**An 'extra' chapter, or follow on from chapter 7 of my fic 'Bakura's Tales of Torment' - .net/s/6221319/7/Bakuras_Tales_of_Torment **

Opening his eyes, Ryou's heart sank. From inside the Millennium Ring he had been watching his god-forsaken yami through the whole ordeal – booking the flight, burning his passport and then muttering something in broken Russian at the Taxi Cab driver, who seemed to get the message and was driving at top speed away from the airport, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like 'Trololol'.

Leaning forward, Ryou tapped on the drivers shoulder. He stopped whistling and smiled at him, before reeling off a few sentences that the Brit could not make sense of.

'Erm... I think you have gotten the wrong idea... Could you please turn around and take me back to the airport?' This was said slowly and clearly – Ryou making sure that his annunciation was as spot on as he could make it. This was what they said, wasn't it? Speak loud enough and anyone can understand what you're saying?

'Oh, of course – I though you asked me to take you to a bar, so your Russian needs a leettle bit of work.' the driver's English wasn't even heavily accented, and he quickly U-turned the cab and drove back to the airport gates, leaving Ryou feeling extremely uncomfortable and more than slightly embarrassed.

Getting out, Ryou paid the driver what seemed like an extortionate amount for less than five minutes on the clock and made his way into the airport. From what he could remember, all he had to do was find the British Embassy, tell them that he lost his passport and would like to go home. The problem with this, however, was that all of the signs around the airport were indeed in Russian.

The safest bet, it seemed, was to find either a member of staff or a tourist that spoke English, and ask them. Looking around, this would obviously be a difficulty. The airport was packed – bustling businessmen and tourists filled the lounges and little shops, nattering to each other and going about their own business. None of them took any notice of the small, lost boy walking between them. They would ignore him if he tried to get their attention, or pat him on the head and nudge him away.

Despaired, Ryou sat down on a departure bench – taking the Millennium Ring in his hands.  
>'Why do you have to keep doing this to me?' The ring was cold. It seemed to be relishing in Ryou's melancholy. Inside, the spirit was laughing – he could feel it.<p>

'Well, that does it. I will not be the butt of your jokes any longer spirit. I am stronger than this! I... bloody hell, I could do with some tea, but I am stronger than this!' Setting his face in a determined expression, Ryou rose from the seat with a new air about him. He tucked the ring into his jumper and straightened his shoulders – he would prove the spirit wrong and he _would not _be made a fool of. Confidence, he thought, was the key to this.

Tall. Slender. Dark hair cascading down skin as pale as moonlight. Across the airport, straight from arrivals, strode three of the most beautiful women Ryou had ever seen. They wore glittering blue garments that revealed large swathes of flesh and dangled golden tassels. The way they moved seemed as though they were dancing - the swish of their hips; the click of their heels: the world was their stage and the simplest movement was their great performance.

With a dry mouth, Ryou steeled himself and walked up to them, barely able to keep himself from staring.

'Excuse me... would you by any chance know where the British Embassy is?' Ryou wasn't sure if they had understood him, or even heard him, but was pleasantly surprised when one woman stopped and smiled at him.

'You _are_ cutie.' She smiled, running a hand over his hair. 

'I am?' He had been called cute by fangirls many times, but never by a woman so... beautiful as this.

'Yes. Like giant cotton ball!' The woman fluffed his hair and giggled. 'You come with us and be in show. Girlies love cuties!'

This was making Ryou feel more than slightly uncomfortable. He didn't look like a cotton ball, did he? 'ah, I don't think I can... I have to get back to England, you see?'

Ignoring him, the woman carried on, 'I see it now 'Cutest Boy in all Russia – On Stage''

'Davaĭ, Valeriya - My dolzhny idti!' Another of the women stopped, a little further ahead.

'Idu, Sashenʹka,' She replied, then leant over and planted a kiss on Ryou's cheek, leaving a large lipstick print, 'I go now, Cotton Ball. Fair well'

Ryou flushed, his face turning nearly as red as the lipstick mark. All he could do was watch as the woman sauntered off to join the other two.

Recovering, he wiped his cheek with his sleeve. Time to focus and find the British Embassy. Focus. Focus... Focusing is surprisingly hard when your caffeine and tannin levels are low, and Ryou found himself wandering aimlessly around the airport.

It was then that, while wondering if the Costa Coffee shops sold overpriced tea as well as overpriced coffee, he walked straight into the man.

He was tall, well over six feet, and he had light brown skin. This was, however, only visible on his face and was broken on both his cheeks – a diagonal scar stretching from the corner of his mouth to his ear on the left and a vertical under his right eye. His hands were gloved in bright white, contrasted by the deep blood red of his jacket and boots. With a swift movement he grabbed Ryou by his hair and pulled his head sharply backwards, chuckling darkly as the boy cried out. He stooped, bringing his face close to that of the Brit's, and stared at him with the black holes deep inside his eyes. A hungry expression crossed his face, terrifying Ryou as something cold and sharp pressed into his stomach.

'My lion is waking up from the flight; he could use a midmorning snack,' the man's voice was soft, but it held a malice that chilled Ryou to the bone, 'and you look absolutely _delicious._'

Ryou shrank back in the man's grip, a hand flying to his chest where beneath the layers of wool the Ring nestled. Licking his lips, the man moved closer – pushing his blade through the boy's coat.

With a swift movement, Ryou brought his hand about the cord around his neck and pulled, bringing out the item and hoping against all hope that the Spirit would intervene and prevent him from... well, from whatever this _madman _was going to do!

_From inside the ring, Bakura was watching with interest. Of course, he wouldn't let any serious harm come to his host – it would be a nightmare to find a new one at such short notice – but it _would _be intriguing to see how he would act in a potentially life-threatening situation. If only his soul room had a popcorn machine... _

At the sight of the Ring, the man abruptly released his grip on Ryou's hair and took a cautious step backwards. The look of dark look had gone from his face, to be replaced by a look of anxiety. He licked his lips, only this time it was not hunger that made him do it. Choosing his words carefully, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands, 'That... I would be careful who you show that to around here, boy.' He spun on his heels and walked away stiffly, as though all of his muscles were tense.

His heart racing, Ryou tucked the Ring back into his coat, cursing softly as he noticed the rip. Hurriedly, he left the spot and made his way over to the other side of the airport – just in case the man changed his mind and came back. His reaction had disturbed him, more so than the threat. Did he say _lion?_ It seemed unlikely... perhaps this whole experience was actually a product of the mental strain of being deprived of tea for so long...

Again, Ryou had phased out of reality and was wandering without purpose around the airport. It came, then, as a surprise when he found himself looking up into the face of a kind looking man in the uniform of the airport staff.

'Leetle boy? You are lost, yes? Come with me to office – is warm and safe for leetle lost tourists,' he took Ryou by the hand and lead him back across the airport and into an office that was indeed warm, and instantly gave off the aura of being safe for any tourist that may happen to have gotten themselves lost in the large Moscow airport. 'Seet yourself down, leetle one. Now tell Uncle Boris, where are you from?'

'Hem, my name is Ryou Bakura and-' he was cut off by Boris pushing him down onto the chair behind him. 

'You are _English _tourist! OLAV!' he shouted at the top of his voice to who Ryou assumed was a man in the next office, 'We have English tourist!'

A frantic scuffling could be heard from the next room, and suddenly the door burst open to reveal another large man, but his face was not as kindly as that of Boris. In fact, it was quite the opposite – full of aggression and, if you looked close enough, a little bit of fear. But Ryou was not looking at his face - instead, he was looking at his hands. More specifically, the large gun that he held in them that was trained to Ryou's head.  
>Despite the obvious threat to the British boy's life, Boris was calm as he walked up to his colleague's side. Muttering something in Russian, he turned and gave Ryou an apologetic look.<p>

Wide eyed, the Brit could only watch in disbelief as Olav lowered the gun and bustled off back into the room he came from, returning only minutes later with a fresh pot of steaming tea. He placed it down in front of Ryou, turned a little red faced and hurried back into whence he came.

Suspiciously, Ryou poured a little of the brown liquid through a strainer and into an awaiting cup. It was strong, rich and scented like heaven to the poor boy that had not had a decent cup since leaving England. It was not, as far as he could tell – and Ryou had a good nose for sensing imperfections in brews – poisoned, spiked or altered in any way. This was what he had been waiting for, and god did it taste good.

A little while later, after a pot and a half of joy, Ryou decided to question the bizarre nature of this 'Olav' who had seemingly wanted to shoot him in the face.

Boris laughed at the Brit's question, but answered plainly enough, 'His English is not good, and glass in door is thick – Olav thought Uncle Boris said 'Terrorist'.'

This was a request fic from AmeeraSakura, and a follow on from chapter 7 of my fic Bakura's Tales of Torment. Written solely for the LOLs Anyone that can spot the cameo gets a gold star!

Xezbeth 


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